Page 49 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

He grinned. “You know, if you wanted to talk to me, you could have just waited for me.”

“I could have,” she agreed. “But there was something I needed to do. And…I wished our speech to be here.”

Ethan turned in a slow circle, surveying the bower. “I can see why. It’s like Rivendell.”

She frowned. “I do not think Archie and Veronica lived among the flowers.”

Ethan gave her a wry look. “You’ve seen Riverdale but not Lord of the Rings.”

“I do not like the computer effects. I have said this.”

“It was a model.”

She stamped her foot on the sand. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

“What can I say?” He flashed her another grin. “You just naturally bring it out of me.”

She huffed out a sigh. “You make it very difficult to say what I wished to.”

“I’m sorry.” He took a few steps forward, then went down on one knee before her. “Speak, my queen.”

Princess, she thought, but did not start that argument. “I wished to thank you.”

He blinked, confusion passing over his face. “That’s why you wanted me to chase you through a maze of cacti and bees?”

“You are moving to the end,” she said sharply. “Let me finish.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Mara continued, her heart beating madly, though she kept her voice calm. “You have been a true friend to me, despite our conflict. I will forever be grateful for the kindness you have shown me and…and the lesson I have learned.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it at her glare.

“I have been foolish,” she said. “I have been clinging to my grief like a shield, and because of that I became an obstacle to you. I fought you, and wounded you, and for that I am sorry. I am sorry I did not see sooner what I truly needed to do.”

“And what is that?” Ethan prompted when she did not continue.

“It is time for me to move on.” She sighed. “Time to forget.”

Ethan’s eyes flashed, and he stood swiftly. “No. That’s not right.”

“Of course it is right,” she snapped. “I must live. I must—” She took his hands, both of them. “I want to move on. I want—”

“Mara.” Ethan’s gloved hands tightened on hers for a moment, then he released her. “Fucking gloves. One second.” He ripped them off, then took her hands again. His skin was warm and damp, rough and real. “Mara,” he began again. “I’m all in favor of you moving on.”

“Then you must want me to forget.”

His eyes burned into hers and he stepped closer, close enough she could feel the warmth of his breath. “That’s the last thing I want,” he said fiercely.

She stared at him, her head muddled. Was this what a concussion felt like? This tangle keeping her mind and her words from connecting? “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“I don’t, either,” he said ruefully. “I know you invited me to chase you up into the most romantic setting possible, but I don’t want to presume anything about your feelings. I don’t know what you want.”

Perhaps he was the one with the concussion again. “I want you. Obviously.”

He met her eyes. “But do you want me want me or…?” He inched even closer, his body heat practically rippling her vision, his scent taking over her senses.

Heat suffused her, and she felt the earth trembling beneath her, her emotions rippling out. “It…is not just your body that I desire. But I cannot stop you if you wish to leave.” She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his throat, just above his hard armor. “Is that still what you wish?”